


The Charging Buck

by salty_roll



Category: Realm of the Elderlings - Robin Hobb, Tawny Man Trilogy - Robin Hobb
Genre: M/M, Other, lets see what a letter can do
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:41:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22284283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salty_roll/pseuds/salty_roll
Summary: ...But he is far away, chasing the edge of the world. An edge I cannot reach, but a letter might.
Relationships: Brashen Trell/Althea Vestrit, FitzChivalry Farseer/The Fool
Comments: 9
Kudos: 22





	The Charging Buck

The sheet of paper lay empty before me, utterly devoid of words, a couple of splashes of ink smudging the yellow surface. The ink on my pen dried out ages ago, and was now subject to my white-knuckled grip, guilty of nothing, yet blamed for my lack of words. The wicking in the scented candle fixed to my desk had almost completely burned out by the time I noticed it was the only remaining illumination of the shadow-strewn cottage. I raised my head towards the window to find the day burnt to a dusky crisp, the horizon flushed with orange and pink hues, yielding to the twilight realm of nocturnal life. Beyond my window, at the edges of the milky cliffs outlining the meadow, the mists had already started to rise from the ground, dancing with the light evening breeze, embracing the surrounding world in obscurity. The entire world seemed to exhale, unclench. 

I sighed in defeat, relaxing my grip on the pen. I stoppered my inkwell, wiped the nib with a cloth and sat back in my chair. I closed my eyes and tried to find calm in the final moments of the day, allowing myself the first truly peaceful moment in many hours. I rose and unlatched the window frames, letting the cool wind flow through the opened window, touching my skin and clearing my mind. I expanded my Wit towards my surroundings.

Life exploded around me, infusing my senses; a finch bringing caterpillars to her rosy-skinned chicks, a rabbit dashing towards its hole between the trunks of aspen trees, blades of grass greedily drinking the condensed mists from their smooth surface. Nighteyes lying on his back, paws pressed against the timber wall below the stone hearth, softly whining, hoping I would kindle a fire soon. I relished in the pure simplicity by which Life, regardless of obstacles, moves forward with quiet determination. No arguing, so questioning, Life simply...is. 

I relaxed my Wit a bit, bringing myself down to my normal sense of the world. Everything dimmed to a pleasant hum. I opened my eyes and turned my head towards the still whining Nighteyes. 

_ Must you continue with the theatrics? It’s like having an out-of-tune minstrel camping in my eardrums.  _

Nighteyes snickered and, instead of answering, started yelping and barking. 

_ Alright, alright!  _ I narrowed my eyes at him, but complied.

I rounded the table and took a few logs out of the basket filled with evergreen timber, and kindled a fire in the sooty hearth. The room instantly assumed a warm tone, shades of amber touching every corner, as if the colors themselves radiated heat. I stretched my back, feeling the pleasant crack of old joints unknotting, and sat down next to Nighteyes, back towards the still cool hearth wall. He jumped from his horizontal position and sat with his haunch pressed to my side, eyes towards the back door of our hut. I glanced towards it and smiled. 

_ Time to wet your muzzle?  _

He turned to look at me, a flicker of amusement in his voice. 

_ Don’t be morbid, brother mine. You might find yourself without a rabbit to chew on. Besides, the time is not yet right. An hour more perhaps.  _

I conceded, turning my head, my eyes wandering towards the bottle of mead at the top shelf of the hardwood cupboard across from me. It stood there, waiting for the moment I finished my letter, waiting to soothe away the cold fear I was bound to feel as the letter passed from my hands to a messenger, and then from those hands to… his. His hands. 

I could vividly remember the last time I saw him, pressed against Girl-on-dragon, his hands around her waist, flying off towards the world he changed. The White Prophet, pulled by the strings of Destiny's bidding, pulling, in turn, the strings of his Catalyst. Me. Once, I had refused to believe that he had such power over me, resented his clever designs within each of our conversations, always heavy with implication, always nudging my actions from a nexus of possibilities towards the survival of the world. But that had been then. A past riddled with uncertainties, unknowns. 

Now, 12 years after I had lost him to the horizon, I find myself looking towards it and hoping that someday, it might return him. 

I closed my eyes and tried once again to imagine his reaction as he opened the seal of my letter, unscrolled the paper, and read what I had written. I forced my mind to visualize the outcome I so desperately wanted. His lithe fingers touching the ink, his snowy curls enveloping the smile spreading across his face, his eyes flickering across the words written on the yellow pages he held. I forced myself to hope he would feel… 

Nighteyes nuzzled my shoulder, sending a wave of comfort towards my mind. I opened my eyes to realize I had been clutching the fur on his back. I quickly released him, letting out a shuddery exhale and opened my eyes, determined not to allow my mind to wander towards its more apathetic depths. I sent out a quick wave of reassurance and gratitude towards my companion and forced myself to my feet. 

I have always found putting my thoughts on paper to be therapeutic. Especially when said thoughts collapsed into whirlwinds, then merged to form a hurricane, thrashing against the world I carefully built around myself and Nighteyes throughout the past decade. 

Interesting, how love has both the power to build your life up or break it down, depending on how you wield it. I had tried to smother the love I felt for quite a while and spent that unfortunate period in self-deprecating hatred and disgust. After a while, I had stopped trying to convince myself what I was feeling was unnatural. How could it be? I knew I know nothing about that kind of love, so I relented to it and allowed myself to explore it. Only after fully embracing it did I realize my own acceptance would never be enough without his reciprocity, without having him share that love with me. 

But he is far away, chasing the edge of the world. An edge I cannot reach, but a letter might.

I found myself hungrily eying the bottle of mead. I had been trying to write that damned letter for months, but couldn’t find the words that would bridge the emotions I felt, and the emotions I had hoped the words would evoke within him. I had hoped to be strong enough to put my thoughts into words with a clear, albeit sober mind, but perhaps that had been a fool’s errand. I turned towards Nighteyes, who was zealously licking an old wound, and cleared my throat. He didn’t glance back, but sent mock encouragement towards me instead. 

_ Humans and their poison. I will never understand it, how you let such a thing burn your body and heal your mind, all at the same time.  _

I raised an eyebrow at him. 

_ Is that a porcupine cut you’re licking brother? How...ironic.  _

He lifted his gaze in mock severity and snapped his jaws towards me.  _ I think I shall go find a more pleasant company amongst the kittens in the barn. Open the door, will you brother dear? _

I snickered and crossed the room, holding the cottage door open for him. He trotted out, sniffed the air and spared one last glance towards me. 

_ It is a good night to hunt. Coming?  _

I looked towards the misted grove of aspen trees in the distance and quested towards the wildlife. I felt several boars and elk in the far distance. I longed to join him. It  _ would  _ be good hunting. But I had other tasks at hand. I turned towards him and shook my head; “We each have our own responsibility tonight, Nighteyes. Another time.”

He looked at me for a second longer, then sniffed and turned around. 

_ We are pack, brother. You, me and the Scentless One. Do not fear your bond with him. He is as part of you as you are part of me.  _

With that, he turned around and ran towards the woods. 

I looked after him for a while, contemplating his words, then latched the door shut and, once again, turned towards the bottle. Liquid courage. It was worth trying. At the very least, it would bless me with a full night’s rest. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later, I was sitting at my desk, morosely fidgeting with my quilled pen between my fingers, looking at the blank paper. The mead was now a comforting warmth resting in my stomach, radiating towards the tips of my fingers and making my whole body buzz with quiet energy. About a third of the honey-hued liquid still remained in the bottle by the table leg, waiting to unknot the uneasiness I still felt. The room was completely silent save for the faint crackling of the nearly burnt log within the hearth. 

I had so many words I wished to write, so many thoughts and feelings that swelled behind the mental blockade pulsing at the center my mind. With every swing from the bottle, the barrier weakened, but after so many years of trained emotional repression, it stood, defiant before the onslaught of concentrated sentiment. But, piece by piece, it  _ did _ give way to small trickles of inspiration. 

I squeezed my eyes shut, drew a breath and dipped my pen in the dark blue ink. Breath still trapped in my lungs, alcohol dampening my fear of trying something so utterly foolish, I opened my Wit and Skill and released it upon myself. 

And felt everything. Every sensation, the wooden surface of the pen, the rough material of my slacks, the leather beneath my feet, the touch of wind on my cheeks, crystalized with a rush of clarity. My heartbeat echoed through my body like a thundercloud, heat filling every muscle. My bones became the center of gravity, making me feel as if the world was tilting towards me. And my mind. My mind lost all of its carefully trained numbness and the lines between its separate compartments were erased, thoughts and emotions effortlessly mingling in a mix-and-match fashion, becoming poetic tools rather than obstacles. I anchored myself to my memories of the Fool and painted them with my love until they were shimmering with iridescent sensations. 

I released my breath and opened my eyes, turning my head towards the paper before me. I lowered my pen, smiled, and started to write. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I felt the pain before I awoke, coming to my senses. My head felt as if it was subject to the wrath of Gods, my body aching from the uncomfortable position I slept in, pressed against the rough bedding of my cot. I opened my eyes and lifted my head with a groan, feeling sick from the motion, and stumbled towards the water barrel in the corner of my bedroom. The water was a cool blessing on my fevered skin, and I hungrily gulped it down. 

I wiped my face with a cloth and stepped into the common room. My feet tripped on something soft and I landed on my face, yelping out in surprise. 

_ Good morning brother mine. I think you’ve discovered the ultimate cure for rest and relaxation; bruising my ribs.  _

I cringed under the weight of another mind pressed upon my own, but let out a soft chuckle. 

_ I always knew you were good for something, but a deadly obstacle? I underestimated you.  _

He rose from the floor and trotted over to where I still lie on the ground. 

_ You look like you quarreled with a fairly feisty mountain cat.  _

I sighed.  _ It feels like it as well.  _

I rose to my feet with a groan and after much unnecessary clanking, found the kettle and put some water to boil. I went to the cupboard and pulled out a metal container with Elfbark leaves, separating a generous amount to the side and threw it in the kettle, hoping to God that it would calm my headache. My head felt as if it were filled with molten steel. 

Nighteyes scratched the front door and I opened it for him. 

_ I brought you a nice, fat boar, but you rudely rejected it by being asleep when I returned. There’s still some left.  _

He turned his head towards the corner of the room, where the remnants of his yestereves meal lay discarded in a heap. My stomach instantly tensed and I gave him an exasperated look. 

_ What?  _ He gave me an innocent glance.  _ I left you a liver! ….I think.  _

He sent me a coy afterthought and walked off towards the garden. I chuckled and poured myself some Elfbark tea. The taste did little to alleviate my mood, so I spiced the drink with what was left if the mead, sweetening it, and sat on the edge of the hearth. I quietly sipped my tea and nibbled on the few leftover dates I found in a nearby bowl, all the while glancing towards my working table. 

The table was splattered with deep blue ink, the stains soaked into the hardwood. Crumbled papers lay scattered on the cobblestone floor, and the candle was completely melted, dried wax forming blue stalactites on the desk’s edge. In the middle of it all, a single sheet of paper waited. 

I looked at it for a moment longer, and in a flash of courage, crossed the room, picked up the letter and started reading it. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Who should I be looking for, sir?”

The messenger couldn’t have been more than 14 years of age, a lanky youth with long brown locks and a heart-shaped face. She fidgeted with the hem of her clock, looking uneasily between me and Nighteyes, who was lounging upon the aspen porch. 

I sighed. The Fool had disappeared over a decade ago, and I hadn’t seen him since. He could have changed his appearance, his alias, his persona. He could be a stranger to anyone other than the selected few who knew him as well as I. Although I too had doubts regarding how well I knew my friend. He had always been the Fool to me, but I knew it not to be his true name. He never did tell me what his mother named him. 

No, I did not have any description that would help the messenger in her quest to find my Fool. But I had something else. A title, and a clue. 

“He is known as the White Prophet. One who holds the strings of destiny. A friend of mine might know where he has gone, she was one of the last to see him, and the only one I trust to speak truthfully. Go to Buckkeep castle, and ask for an audience with Queen Kettricken. Give her greetings from Nighteyes and an old friend, and ask her of the Prophet. She might point you in the right direction.”

She gave a curt nod, though her eyes grew wide at my mention of Kettricken. I absently wondered how our queen faired but pushed the thought down, focusing on steadying my hands instead. They shook ever so slightly, holding my scrolled letter, sealed with blue wax, and a charging buck insignia. I took a deep breath and extended my hand, holding the paper in front of me. The girl took it and stored it a cylinder leather pouch, then looked back at me uncertainly, as if expecting me to grab the letter and flee. 

It took all my strength not to do exactly that. I steeled my mind against the temptation and tried to relax my posture. I let out a shaky smile and looked towards the messenger. 

“Off with you then. You have a long journey ahead of you. I will make sure you are properly compensated for any travel expenses beyond what I have already provided.”

She held my gaze for seconds longer before placing her hand on my elbow and quietly whispering; “I will find him, sir. I see uncertainty in your eyes, but allow yourself this; look within my own, and find they hold only determination. This letter will find its owner”

I quietly looked at the cylinder pouch in her hands, breathing deeply before finally diverting my glance.

“Thank you.”

With that, I turned towards the cottage and climbed the porch steps, stepping into my home. I waited for Nighteyes to make his way inside, then closed the door behind me and dropped to the ground, emotions roaring, tearing at my edges. I felt another mind blanket my own, draping me in a soft, soothing rhythm. 

_ It is done, brother mine. The Scentless One will finally come home.  _

I didn’t move.  _ You do not know this thing, you only guess at one of the possibilities the future holds. He might not come. He might hate me once his eyes cross the truths I have written. It took me years to accept my love for him, yet I expect him to do so through a minutes read. This is was, ultimately, a selfish action, a selfish hope to hope. To lift my burden and place it on another’s shoulder. What if he does not understand? What if he refuses to?  _

I felt my thoughts falter to a stop. These questions were a tempest I often battled, but they never seemed as real as they did at this moment, after the deed was done. The letter, my heart with it, was on its way to the Fool. He would know. And that would change everything, this way or that. I cringed at the inevitability of consequences I set into motion. 

Nighteyes crossed the room and sat down next to me, pressing his chest to my shoulder. I embraced him with my arm, resting my head against his neck, breathing in his familiar scent.

We stayed like that for a while, the storm within me slowly dissipating. Finally, he spoke.

_ Brother. You are change. The wind and water that shapes the ever reluctant stone. A force. Changer. The world grows around you, through you, with you. And the world will always return to you.  _ He _ will return to you.  _

I lifted my head to find him regarding me with a calm gaze. His eyes radiated with certainty, and I found myself daring to hope. 

I pressed him against me, sending my gratitude towards him. Then I stood up and made my way towards my cot, hoping against hope I would find what I sought. I fell to my knees and rummaged beneath my bedding, finally pulling out a small bottle of brandy, filed with about a quarter of orange liquid. I pulled myself straight and walked to my desk, sitting and uncorking the bottle. 

I looked through the window, the crisp blue sky and deep blue sea spreading before me. Life was alight about me, and I took strength from it, breathing it in. 

“Not plumbing after all.”

I slowly raised the bottle towards the horizon, quietly saluting my friend. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing anything, so... you know the drill.  
> Thank you to everyone who opened this fic, I plan to continue it for as long as I can!


End file.
